


i will be everything you need

by starslooklike



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort/Angst, Episode: s04e05 Cooperative Escapism in Familial Relations, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, adding tags as I update
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:01:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29006490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starslooklike/pseuds/starslooklike
Summary: Jeff gets a text message from Britta's parents on Thanksgiving after the disaster at his dad's house.AU beginning immediately after s04e05 Cooperative Escapism in Familial Relations.
Relationships: Britta Perry/Jeff Winger
Comments: 9
Kudos: 21





	i will be everything you need

Jeff parks in front of the apartment and reaches to unbuckle his belt. When he turns and sees Britta doing the same, he does a double take. How did I forget she was here? he wonders. She smiles softly.

“If you don’t want company, I can take an Uber back to your dad’s to get my car?” she half-heartedly offers.

“No, no, come in.” When they get to his apartment, he ushers her in and throws his coat onto the couch. He rubs his face and tries to think of a way to erase the day from Britta’s memory. A soft vibration and glowing light comes from his phone where it fell out of his coat pocket.

The message on his screen is from a number he doesn’t recognize.

_Hello. Is this Britta Perry’s friend, Jeff Winger?_

He picks up his phone. “What the hell?” he says out loud, looking around for Britta.

She calls out from the kitchen, “What? Hey, where’s your wine opener?” She slams a drawer shut and comes into the living room, bottle of wine in hand.

“Where did that even come from?” he demands. “I don’t drink wine.” She shrugs and starts to tell him she brought it, just in case, but his phone vibrates again to remind him of the unopened text. “Britta.” He waves her over and shows her the screen. “Who the hell is this? Are the cops looking for you?”

She pads across the living room in her bare feet, wine bottle in hand, and leans against his chest to squint at the phone. She looks up at him and the color drains out of her face. “Oh my god. Jeff, that’s my dad. He texted Annie last week, looking for me, she asked who it was and didn’t respond after that and oh, fuck—”

Jeff cuts her off with a hand on his shoulder. He recognizes her face from the time they drank way too much vodka and puts pressure on her shoulder, trying to steady her and praying she doesn’t puke on his feet again. “Slow down. What’s going on?”

Britta lightly steps around the couch as though any noise might alert her parents to her location, like there are alarms in his floor to catch her, or like she might take off running. She doesn’t, though; she slumps into the couch and drops the wine bottle on the seat. She takes a deep breath but keeps her head turned from him.

Following that cue, Jeff decides to give her a minute and goes into the kitchen silently. He digs out his rarely used bottle opener and two wine glasses. By the time he returns to the living room her breathing has steadied. He doesn’t say anything while he pops the cork and pours two glasses until they’re nearly overflowing. He doesn’t say anything as he hands her the glass.

She turns to look at him after taking a sip. That’s the Britta face he knows best: eyes focused, mouth set in a thin line. She’s determined and ready to argue, to stand her ground and not cede an inch.

He softens, though, and puts his hand on her knee before she can say anything. “Britta,” he says, in the most no-bullshit, serious voice he can muster, “do you have anything you want to say to your parents?” She shakes her head, lips still pursed, and he unlocks his phone.

Jeff looks at her and then to his phone. Without saying a word, he begins typing while she watches.

_Yep. Don't text me or Britta's other friends anymore._

Britta watches over his arm and when he tilts his head down to glance at her, she nods almost imperceptibly. He hits send and when she looks away, he nudges her and shows her his phone again. As she watches, he blocks the number. He leans over his knees and unceremoniously drops his phone on the coffee table.

He sits up and tentatively puts an arm over Britta’s shoulders. When she doesn’t shove him away, he pulls her a little closer. Wordlessly, she flutters a hand over the scar he’d shown his dad and leans in to the embrace.

They sit on the couch like that drinking their wine in silence. Britta gets up to pee once they’ve finished off their first glasses and Jeff nabs the remote off the table. He turns on The Wire, one of the few shows they agree on, and notices his phone.

He picks it up — blessedly, no messages — and shoots the Apartment 303 trio a message telling them to ignore and block it if they get a text from Britta’s parents. He considers whether he needs to tell Shirley or Pierce, and settles on sending Shirley a brief message. He’s pretty sure Pierce’s phone isn’t actually connected to any service at this point.

By the time Britta settles back in against Jeff’s shoulder, he’s received affirmative messages from everyone. Shirley added an extra warning to not slip up and commit any mortal sins tonight with a large smiley face. Jeff and Britta can’t tell emotion from lust sometimes, and Shirley probably knows that better than even them — but he’s pretty sure any sins tonight will be limited to too much drinking and probably a little weed.

Jeff slips his arm back over Britta’s shoulder but she sits up and turns to face him. He looks at her quizically and then moves to refill her wine, but she says, “Jeff, no. I have to tell you something.” The weariness in her voice settles over him like a cold gust of wind. She’s hurting. Really bad.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” he muses, looking into his wine glass. “You were there today. You have seen, first hand, that I understand why a grown adult might not want a relationship with their parents. Hell, you were why I went to see him.” He shifts to meet her gaze, knees knocking against hers, and takes her hands in his. They sit chest to chest and Jeff meets her watering eyes. She’s crying and it throws him off, but he continues as best as he can. “You knew that I needed to see him. I think you also know whether you need to see them or talk to them, and—”

This time, Britta cuts him off. “No Winger speeches!” she protests. She’s laugh-crying now. “I want someone to know, because I’m not crazy but they make me think I’m crazy and you can tell me if I am crazy—” she’s babbling and starting to put emphasis on random words, and he’s kind of worried she might have an actual meltdown, so he puts his hand on her cheek. She takes another deep breath.

“When I was eleven, I was too happy. That was their excuse for making me take a drug test. When I was thirteen, I dated a girl, and that was their excuse for grounding me for six months and taking away my computer. When I was fourteen, I got a C in gym class, and they did it again. By the time I was fifteen, I was sad all the fucking time and one night I told their pastor I wanted to die, and that was their excuse for kicking me out. Because I embarrassed them, and I was a broken kid, and they refused to be parents to a broken kid. They claim they don’t remember any of that, and Professor Duncan says that’s called gaslighting, and I’m not even really sure what that is but they called me a liar every time I tried to talk to them about it, about how they never wanted me, and when I moved back to Greendale the other students started telling me about these weird messages they were getting and it turns out my parents have been trying to get fucking Vicki and Neil to spy on me and—” she takes a deep breath on her own this time and stops talking. She realizes Jeff is still making eye contact with her and hasn’t looked away the whole time. He hasn’t taken his hand off her cheek, either.

He speaks haltingly and with an uncharacteristic lack of confidence. “I am so sorry,” he starts, and she almost pulls away in embarrassment, ready to flee from pity, and he doesn’t move to prevent her. But he finishes, “I’m sorry that anyone would have to live without you, but I’m not sorry that you made what is, frankly, the best decision I’ve ever heard and cut them out once and for all. They had the chance to love you. I don’t know anyone who doesn’t. They’re the broken ones — the crazy ones.”

She almost collapses from the relief and starts laughing. He shifts and lets her lay her head against his chest. She pulls his arm over her again.

Once the laughter patters out, she turns her head up to face him and smiles. “Thanks, Jeff.” He shrugs. They look at each other for a while and Britta goes onto the balcony for a cigarette. When she comes back, he points to the TV cocks an eyebrow. She nods, so he turns back on The Wire and she settles into the same position, laying on the couch with the back of her head on his chest.

Jeff’s phone reads 3:00 am when he groggily wakes up from the type of deep sleep that’s preceded by good wine and warm snuggling. He glances around and realizes they fell asleep on the couch. Britta has rolled over in her sleep so her face is buried in his chest. He brushes the hair off her cheek and strokes her face gently. She stirs and groans. “Britta, let’s get in the bed,” he says quietly. “Come on.” She crinkles her face and groans again, burying her head deeper into his stomach. “No, really,” he says. He tries to stifle his laughter. “Come on.”

Finally, she gets up grumpily and goes into the bedroom. He shuts off the lights and climbs in after her. She wiggles across the bed; it occurs to him that the bed is so big, and he uses up so little of it, as though he’s saving the empty space for someone.

She clutches his shirt in her fists and puts her face against his chest again. Britta is back to sleep within minutes; he pulls her a little closer and falls asleep almost immediately, too.

In the morning, Jeff drives them to campus and promises to take her to pick her car up that afternoon. She smiles. “Thanks again, Jeff.” He shrugs and smiles back. They walk quietly to the study room together.

They’re barely seated at table when Abed announces in a clear, steady voice, “Britta stayed at Jeff’s last night.”

Jeff slides his feet off the table and says, “Hey!”  
“How did you know?” Troy asks. He squints at Abed. “Wait. He texted us!” He nods and smiles in self-satisfaction that he figured it out too.

“No. I mean,” Abed clarifies, “he did text us. But I figured that meant either Britta told him to, or he knew Britta would want him to — for the obvious reasons.” Jeff throws up his hands in exasperation but Abed continues. “Britta is wearing Jeff’s shirt.” He points at her.

Britta looks down at her shirt, shocked. “We didn’t sleep together!” she asserts when Shirley looks at her, scandalized. “I mean, we slept together.” Annie gasps. Pierce starts to reach for a fist bump from a disgusted-looking Jeff. Britta says, “Not like that!”

Jeff leans forward and cuts her off. He explains, “Britta came to my dad’s, and then we went back to my place to drink — don’t give me that look, Shirley. We watched The Wire and fell asleep, and Britta’s car was at my dad’s, so I’m taking her to get it tonight.”

The study group exchanges looks. Finally, they all shrug or nod, accepting the explanation, and flip open their books.

Troy suddenly blurts out, “What kind of sleeping? Can someone please explain the different types of sleeping? Why don’t I know about this? Am I doing it wrong?”

Shirley shoots Pierce a sharp look as he opens his mouth to speak, then turns to face Troy. “You’re not doing anything wrong,” she says sweetly. Then, with a dark-sounding mutter, she adds, “Don’t do any other kind.” Troy considers her response and then nods.

The slight kerfluffle has left the group restless, so Annie, Troy, Pierce, and Shirley decide to take off for lunch. Jeff hangs back, but he has an early class so he sweeps his books off the table and slings his jacket over his shoulder. He looks at Britta and says, “Meet here after class?” She nods with a smile.

Abed and Britta study together in silence for a while, with periodic interruptions of Britta searching for a pen and cursing or Abed humming. When they stand up and begin to get their things together for class, Britta finally turns to Abed and says, “What did you mean, the obvious reasons?”

“Oh.” Abed tilts his head. “I figured you knew.”

“What?”

“Jeff loves you,” he says.

“Sha. Right.”

“No, really.”

Britta looks down at her books and Abed notices her expression changes into the one she has when she’s happy or talking about her cats. They gather their things and leave through different doors.

**Author's Note:**

> i have read so much good fix-it fic for this storyline but my shameless jeffxbritta heart wanted this to be a catalyst for an actual relationship. i want to continue this, so i may update later. thanks for reading & please give any feedback you wish <3 || also on tumblr as @thestarslooklikeus


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